Soon big hands were squeezing my ass, moving down my thighs as the needle moved in and out. I must have moaned again as those hard, flat palms shaped me, touching me intimately and with passion.
But suddenly there was a slight prick and the needle jabbed into my behind, making me wince.
“Ouch!” I gasped. “That hurt!”
“I’m sorry baby,” came a masculine voice. “The needle must have slipped. Here, let me kiss it,” the voice continued. And to my amazement, I felt soft, mobile lips press against my butt, exactly where the tear opened.
“Oh my god!” I breathed. Was this really happening?
There were chuckles behind me before another male voice said, “My turn.”
And the first mouth pulled off and another one took its place, this one slightly open, its tongue wet and warm on my ass as it kissed my secret crevice. It swirled around and then slipped into my crack, making my eyes fly open. How could they touch me there?
But Colt and Cain merely rasped their satisfaction.
“She tastes good,” the man behind me grunted, and I blushed, my knees going weak. But my brothers were ready, catching me and holding me around the waist as I swayed off balance.
“Gotcha,” growled Colt, providing a steady arm as his twin continued licking me oh so slightly. “Almost done, little sister.”
Did he mean the tonguing or the sewing? I guess both because Cain snapped the thread with his teeth and stowed the needle back in the sewing kit.
“Good thing there isn’t much material, hmmm?” drawled Colt, waggling his eyebrows. “That was a quick fix.”
I blushed, sure that the red ran up to my hairline. I felt so off-balance because everything that had happened was completely unexpected: the twins, the rip in my dress, and the way they’d taken charge. But my brothers merely chuckled, slapping my butt gently.
“It’s time to get back to the dinner table,” laughed one. “Hungry still?”
“Always,” growled the other, looking at me suggestively.
I staggered back to the dining room on the arms of both my new brothers … with a feeling that I was the main course.
CHAPTER FIVE
Karlie
“Come on,” said Jenny. “It’ll be fun. Relax, it’s going to be fine.”
“Um, I don’t know Jen,” I said hesitantly. “It seems kind of seedy.”
We were standing outside a nightclub in New York City, the sidewalk chilly and the wind whipping through our hair. It’d been a long bus ride up, but Jenny had convinced me to come along and I’d agreed out of desperation more than anything else.
Because Colt and Cain have been ignoring me. After that first night, I was sure there’d be more. After all the encounter had been so steamy and unexpected that I stayed awake most nights replaying it in my head. The twins felt the same, right?
But to my surprise and disappointment, it was like they’d completely forgotten about me.
“Hey,” said Colt absentmindedly when we crossed paths at school. I had a camera slung around my neck and was dressed in baggy black, the standard photographer’s uniform.
“Hey yourself,” I said, stopping to chat, hoping that he’d give some secret sign and some recognition of having once kissed my butt gently.
But I was cut off by two meatheads who high-fived my brother, their baseball hats backwards and wearing letter jackets with huge stenciled eagles on the back.
“Yo bro, great move at practice the other day. You ready for Friday night?”
Colt, ever the big man on campus, let out a dazzling smile.
“You know it. Those fuckers are going to get pounded.”
The trio strode down the hall, girls looking at them with admiring glances while scrawnier boys scrambled to get out of the way.
So yeah, my brothers barely acknowledge me now. It was almost like they’d never kissed me. It was as if my imagination was playing tricks, leaving me to touch myself at night in my single bed while replaying that night over and over in my head.
So when Jenny had asked if I wanted to play hooky, I’d nodded furiously. My life had become too pathetic, and some excitement was desperately needed.
“We’ll go to this place called the Tigress Club,” she said. “I heard it’s fun, and everyone goes there.”
“Really?” I asked. “I guess so. I could sneak out. What should we wear?”
I wasn’t great with the clothes department and could really use some guidance.
“Oh you know, club attire,” Jenny replied breezily. “Something sassy, short, and fun. The usual stuff.”
That night, I’d flipped through my closet for twenty minutes with frustration building in my head like a kettle about to shrill. I just didn’t have anything appropriate until my hand seized upon some purple fabric. The rip in back was neatly repaired, but it was still as scandalous as ever.
No. I couldn’t. Look at the trouble this dress had gotten me into in the past. But I was so sick of my life, and of being unseen, that I’d squeezed into it, pulling down the hem with my boobs almost overflowing. Oh well. After all, I had nothing else and who knew? Maybe it’d be the juju for something exciting tonight.
Now, after a long bus ride up to New York City, I wondered if we’d made a mistake. There was no sign for the Tigress, just a shabby metal door with the paint already falling off and creaky hinges.
“Um, it doesn’t really look like our type of place,” I said doubtfully, yanking the tie of my trenchcoat tighter around my waist. “How did you find this place again?”
But Jenny wasn’t deterred.
“Come on, it’ll be fine,” she said, pulling on my elbow. Turning to the bouncer, a big Samoan guy with an earpiece, she chirped, “Two please,” flashing him a flirtatious smile.
The Samoan didn’t even react. I expected him to ask for our IDs, or even to turn us away. But after standing stock still listening to his Bluetooth, he suddenly whipped the door open and we found ourselves in the joint.
Blinking blindly, the darkness was overwhelming at first, and almost overpowering. But then a spotlight of gold flicked on in the center of the room and I gasped.
Because a girl was dancing, totally nude. She was lithe and sinuous, wriggling her hips while prancing around, titties bouncing, cunt on full display for men to see. I watched, my mouth hanging open as she spread her legs, then coyly reached two fingers down to part her nether lips, letting men see straight up her channel.
The customers were eating it up. The dudes in the front row whooped and yelled, pushing each other out of the way to take their turn looking up at that pink flesh. These were clearly not cultured, classy guys. Instead, they were practically farm boys. There was one guy in overalls, and another with a huge ten-gallon hat that slid off his head as he clambered to get a look.
“Come on,” I hissed, alarmed, grabbing Jenny’s arm. “We’re in the wrong place. This isn’t a dance club, this is a strip club.”
“Oh I know,” she said breezily, resisting my pulls. “I meant for us to come.”
“What do you mean you meant for us to come?” I hissed right into her ear. “Come on, let’s go!” I tugged insistently.
But Jenny couldn’t be stopped. Instead of leaving, she actually undid her jacket, letting it pool to the floor. That’s when I realized something was up.
Because Jenny wasn’t dressed in club attire, or at least not dance club attire. She was wearing a teeny bikini. It was hot pink and let her assets hang out, and believe me, Jenny is not a small girl. Her boobs must have been H’s at least, the sides and bottoms on display under tiny triangles of fabric, with just a wisp of material at her waist covering her pussy.
“Jenny!” I gasped, “What the hell?” She might as well be naked because there was nothing left to the imagination.
But I didn’t have a chance to ask more because suddenly the spotlight swung on us.
“Oh yeah,” sang an announcer’s voice. “It’s Amateur Night tonight and I see our girls have just shown. Le
t’s give it up for Jenny and Karlie!”
My mouth literally fell open. How did they know who we were? How had they known our names? This was uncanny.
But my friend was like the Energizer bunny gone wild. She pranced up to the stage, waving and blowing kisses like Miss America, and goddamn if I didn’t see some male hands slapping her behind as she made her way there, wriggling her hips with every step.
When she got up there, she began dancing, twisting and turning like a pro, rubbing the pole between her breasts, between her legs, and even licking it with her tongue suggestively.
I was scandalized but I could see bills starting to rain onto the floor. My friend danced like an expert, prancing over to collect them, stashing them into the string of her bikini while continuing to wriggle and letting guys enjoy her assets.
I was literally frozen stiff, my hands still on the tie of my trench coat when the spotlight swung on me again. The glare was unnaturally warm, almost blinding me, before the announcer’s voice boomed.
“Come on Karlie! We know you want it! You can do it baby girl, win that thousand dollar prize!”
I was wide-eyed and dazed, like a rabbit caught in the headlights, unable to move when suddenly I remembered my lack of a sex life. I wanted my stepbrothers so badly, and yet I was nothing but an ant to them. Less than an ant in fact, just a complete zero, and the realization drove me forward.
I wanted to be someone. I wanted to be noticed, and for the world to see me as desirable, even if it was men whose names I’d never know, and faces I’d never see again. In fact, that was ideal, given that I was about to take it all off.
Besides, I could see that it was literally starting to rain money on Jenny, and she looked like she was having a good time. I’d wanted to break the mold, right? Boring old Karlie, always behind the shutter of the camera. This would be my opportunity to get out, get wild, and be someone else temporarily.
So I too, dropped my trench, and began shimmying.
It was a little hard at first. After all, I had the lavender dress on and that thing is tight. But standing with my legs in a vee, I slowly ran my hand up my thighs, pulling the dress up with it. And sure enough, another spotlight swung over to me and I closed my eyes, letting myself bask in the warmth of the light’s glare with the men’s eyes heating me up.
Slowly, oh so slowly, I pulled the dress up, going inch by inch over my thighs until the bottom of my cunt was revealed. I pulled a little higher and the hem lifted again, the fabric scrunching up around my midsection so that my whole pussy was on display, pink and quivering for the crowd to ogle.
Because I hadn’t worn underwear. That’s right, I’d wanted to be adventurous and to take on a secret identity. While I hadn’t expected to be stripping, what’s more wild than letting some wind blow between your thighs, enjoying the breeze in your hair … especially if it was your pubic hair?
So with sly smile, I began to dance, swaying my hips and unzipping the lavender dress until finally, I slipped it over my head, dressed in nothing but purple high heels.
The roar from the crowd was thunderous and music to my ears. Men were whooping and hollering, stomping their feet, yelling things like, “Get em, little lady!” So it was a little country, but that’s okay. The attention felt so good, like liquid warmth bathing my skin, and it was exactly what I needed after Colt and Cain’s cold shoulder.
But I imagined them in my head as I danced. I felt their lips caress my ass as I leaned over, pulling my butt cheeks apart so that my pussy was revealed. I felt their breath on my clit as I held myself open, stretching my little labia so that my hole could get some air, my warm, moist insides hot pink and dying for male attention.
I moaned “Colt, Cain” as I slipped a finger into that wet tunnel, fingering myself for customers to see, stirring my female juices, and feeling up my g-spot from deep inside.
It was too much. I rubbed, rubbed and rubbed some more, stimulating my secret space within full view of Tigress patrons, starting to cream, my cunt clenching down on my finger, and pussy juice running like goo from the pleasure. It dripped down my thighs, coating my hand in honey.
Frankly, the crowd loved it. Guys had their dicks out, beating them hard, sperm jetting into the air as they sat back in their chairs and released, their eyes glued to my twat. Their baby batter was the ultimate sign of validation. But even more, money was raining all around me, dollar bills landing in my hair, fluttering across my back like butterfly kisses, and snowing on me in a blizzard.
I loved it. I loved every second of it, the bills making me feel appreciated, wanted, desirable … and yes, even loved.
CHAPTER SIX
Cain
Jerry and Karla are in love and taking it to the extreme, unable to keep their hands off one another. It’s crazy, the way our parents make-out, and it’s even grosser when we catch them having sex. Oh yeah, Colt and I caught Jerry and Karla doing the dirty in the den the other day. Fifty year old Jerry was going at it, rutting like a pig between his fiancee’s legs with her high heels pointed to the ceiling as she shrieked, “Go Big Boy!”
As you can imagine, we beat feet immediately. It was a sight I wanted to erase from my memory, purge from my brain with liquid detergent and then triple rinse, thank you very much.
But our stepsister is a different issue. We haven’t touched Karlie since she moved in, out of respect believe it or not. She’s smart and funny and nice, whereas my brother and I? We’re horndogs, big men on campus, easily netting girls right and left. It doesn’t seem right to do a repeat of our first night, and to subject Karlie to our depravities.
So Colt and I hold back. We don’t touch our new sister, although we’re still bringing girls home for the double-drill regularly. It’s a weekly occurrence and we have an itch that has to be scratched all the time.
Besides, it’s not exactly a secret that Colt and I share. We’ve had fun with a lot of the sluts in town, and most of the good girls too, truth be told. If she’s hot, then we’ve hit it from both sides, our dicks going in and out like a well-oiled machine.
And that’s the thing. It’s a twofer with us, and the women don’t say no. Yeah that’s right, we’ve never even gotten a no before. Instead, most of the chicks we drill get that special look in their eye when they realize what’s coming. It’s almost like “Holy shit, this is going to be the best night of my life,” and you know what? Colt and I deliver.
Plus, our crew is the bottom of the barrel and no way someone as sweet as Karlie should get mixed up with them. Take Jack, for instance. He thinks it’s fun to watch porn in public. Oh yeah, he goes to the public library and surfs to his heart’s content while shocked passerby avert their eyes. The dude just laughs and enjoys himself, clicking on whatever - Indian porn, black girls, and shower sex, you name it. At least he picks a computer in the back most of the time.
Or take Burt. This dude, he is one dirty motherfucker. Every STD, he’s gotten it. More than once he’s been the laughingstock of the locker room, groaning and grunting as he stands in front of a urinal moaning, “It hurts, it hurts, fuck it’s the clap again.” He’s probably banged every working girl in a twenty mile radius, bar none.
So you can see why we avoid Karlie, nodding when we see her in the halls but nothing else. She’s pristine, clean, and sweet, while we’re a bunch of guys who wrote the book on seduction. But yeah, I still let my mind wander sometimes during sex, pretending it’s Karlie I’m kissing again as I tongue another woman, imagining my step’s hot, sweet smell of spice.
The desperation must have gotten to me because when the football team proposed an outing, I was ready. These “outings” are pretty much the same. A man-sized steak and then a strip club where the dollars rain. It’s an Eagles superstition, not to mention tradition. You make it rain at a strip club for good luck, and then Friday night? The opposition is toast.
So yeah, I was pumped on the bus ride into the city. Fantasizing about my step had me on edge, and fuck, Colt and I hadn’t done a chick in
a week or so. My libido was ready to go, and I was already mentally planning the night ahead: steak, stripper, stripper, stripper, in that order. Yeah, three girls sounded about right.
When we stepped into the Tigress, I could tell it was going to be a good night again. The Tigress is my favorite club in the city. Low lights, lots of alcohol, and hot girls. There are peanut shells on the floor, spilled whiskey from last night still sticky on the bar, and a crew of sleazy looking dudes already getting down, but I don’t let it bother me.
Currently, there was a redhead on stage. She looked a little worse for the wear, but that was okay. This was the Tigress, and we weren’t expecting high class escorts. The dancer was dirty in spirit though, and the kind who’ll do anything. She pranced around, shedding clothes left and right, tossing her thigh highs to some really gross dude while grinding her cunt against another. I thought I saw the second man insert a finger into her pussy while the girl squealed with pleasure, his big digit massaging her insides. Like I said, this is a no holds barred type of place.
As her set ended, the club went dark and a tell-tale blue light came on. Oh yeah, this was what we were waiting for. The entire football team was here, and some guys had their dicks out already, getting ready for a stroker. Because that’s what the blue light means – pure sex.
It’s a thing with the Tigress. They take “no holds barred” to a different level. Instead of having back rooms where strippers get it on with clients, the blue light signals that the coast is clear. It’s more than topless, bottomless, and all that bullshit. It means pussy is ready to get drilled, however many times the girl wants, however she wants it, and with however many guys. And the Saratoga Eagles? We were here to partake.
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